The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty One

To me, it had been perfect. I'd done everything with her that I'd wanted to do. I'd made love to her when she'd woke up before we'd ate breakfast together. I'd watched her work all afternoon, her glasses on and her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she'd tried to figure out some puzzle with her narrative.  

After I'd gone out for supplies we'd eaten lunch in comfortable silence, until I'd announced I was taking her out on a date tonight.  Even when she'd dragged me to a shitting Irish bar it had been perfect because it was with her.  Not that I had anything to compare it with, but I didn't want to compare it with anything. I didn't need to.  

Yeah, the date had been almost perfect. Right up until she asked me when the piece would be finished. That, I'd let get to me. I'd fucked her harder than I intended to for that.  For mentioning him.  For thinking about him.   I'd felt calmer after though.  Being inside her always relaxed and comforted me, made me forget things. 

I press my mouth to the freckle on her left hipbone and her fingers slide down my neck and begin to stroke and squeeze at my shoulder.  Go back home. How the fuck would that work exactly? It wouldn't. How can I leave New York without her? How can I leave her here?  With him. 

I know what'll happen too. I'll most likely drink or work myself to death.  On a positive note, losing her for the second time would do fucking wonders for my work, of that much I was certain.

Then I remember.

I haven't done everything I wanted to do with her yet. I lift my head and glance up and out the large windows behind us. The moon was bright and high and there was very little other light. It could work. I'd make it work.

When I sit up from her she gives me a confused look. Fucking hell, she looks incredible.  She always did after I'd fucked her.   Her hair frames her face; her cheeks pink and flushed against the pale flawless skin of the rest of her, the faint glowing light from the fire dancing off her body.  She really is a fucking masterpiece.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

I bring myself to my feet and stare down at her. "I'm going to get my camera and shove on some clothes. Then we're going outside."

"It's too late to go outside, and it's dark. What can you take pictures of in the dark?"

I give her a small smile, "You."

"Me?"

I nod slowly.

She practically springs up from the floor.  "Outside? You want to take pictures of me outside, naked?" She looks as shocked as she looked that day I asked her to take her dress off.  Shocked and a little turned on.

I give her another nod and bite my bottom lip as I imagine her outside, naked.

"Aidan, don't be ridiculous, what if someone sees? I can't," she shakes her head.

"And here was me thinking you weren't a prude?" I sigh.  She narrows her eyes on me and brushes a hand through her hair.  "We're surrounded by trees, no one will see," I add.   She holds my eyes a minute and then glances at the fire. She brings her hand up to her mouth to press her knuckles against her lips as she thinks about it, hard. 

I know what she's going to say before she says it.  I know she's going to say yes because I know she wants to say yes.  Like when she agreed to take off her dress.

I've come to realise that like me, Eloise has two sides of herself fighting for control of what she should do and what she wants to do.  I've known it since the day she kissed me, or maybe I knew it before that.  She does what she wants to do because she's listening to the part of her that's strong and wild like her grandmother.  When she doesn't do what she wants to do it's because she's convinced herself it's wrong somehow.